Page 108 - Bellfort Magazine 2024

Where I Belong
In a town in Northern Ireland where the river Braid flows,
Ballymena, dear friend, is where my heart truly knows.
Early mornings, late nights, then up by nine.
In this place, I belong, where everything’s fine.
The streets are my canvas, the people my song.
Ballymena, dear friend, is where I belong.
From Slemish mountain top to the Fairhill’s busy throng, this is my home,
Where I have been all along.
Farrah McCaughern

Shorts
I sit in awe and confusion
Before the beast of flight
As it begs me to give it wings.
Feathers of wire and spark
Tied in tactical knots,
Weaved into initiating connections.
Every cord – a place to go,
Guided only by my mind and hands –
The hands trusted with blessing
Flight to the beast.
The hands scarred and hardened
With every bird that’s left the nest.
Those hands now old, yet content
And staying close to land.
Ruby Murray

Mixed
Lost. Pacing. Scanning.
My skin, a complex shade of confusion.
A dark, solemn pigment;
Mixed. With the light, blank canvas.
Here, I do not belong.

The odd-one-out stares back at me.
Shards of glass, coated with a metal amalgam;
The looking glass holds me in purgatory.
The solitary confinement within,
I wish I could belong.

I feel my irregular heartbeat -
It’s not like yours.
But it’s not like theirs.
Merrily, it skips through the unloving glares,
Unmatched. It stops and stares.
T’mia Jenkins